I grandparent, William Bailey, he daily used to walk across the causeway and bridge to our homestead and relieve the loneliness of ' Bachelor Hall,' in the Byiupathetic enjoyment of our family life, ."^ucli was his habitude, iiuleed, during the most im|Kirlant period of my mother's history, her later school days. His private library, a true index of his cherished

' tastes, was one of the best, at the time, outside of the metropolis ; and it greatly intensified hfs enjoyment of it, often recognizing in my mother, II. 'c Anne Bayley, a keen appreciation of books, to minister to her intellectual development by placing at her coiiiiiiand the frosliost productions of Engli.sli literature, rendering her familiar with the standarri works of

j F.ssayists and Poets, with most of those English classics, indeed, that

I w ould be found in the choicest home library at the close of the Eighteenth Century. Thus, working 'better than he know,' he wius providing the main topics of interest that ruled flii- course of our hou.sehoUl talk throughout my school days, and was ipialifying my mother to become not professionally, but im-identally and really, the attractive companion and educator of her five children. Her grateful alliisioiia to him made his name familiar to tmr eai-s ; anil often curious fancy would invest with the golden haze of romance the unwritten history of this ' Lmip Lord of the Isle.' Uiiiuor had soiiietiiiies whisiieiX'd that, in his exjie-

HISTORY OF WESTCHESTER COUNTY.

rience, the glow of youthful hope had been dimmed by the death of a first love, for whose vacant place no substitute could be found on earth.